My name is Jana Gross and I am a transracial adoptee from South Korea. I was 2.5 years old when I was adopted, along with my older sister. We grew up in a small town in Minnesota with my older brother and parents. My adoption has affected me in different ways during my life and it hasn't been until the last year that I've connected with other adoptees on a deeper level and it has been a beautiful thing.

I've lived in the Austin, TX area for the last 20+ years with my husband and 3 amazing daughters. As an artist and photographer, I get to create artwork for my clients of the most treasured people in their lives. It's so important to me to create heirloom portraits that capture the beauty of each person to be enjoyed by themselves and future generations.​

There is no way that this project could have happened without the generosity of those sharing their stories. A heartfelt thank you to everyone who chose to participate in this project and elevate their voice to educate, support, and connect our community.

Triniti Rhum
​Trishtia Barndt
​Dianne Sonnenberg
​Bo Schwabacher

Healing happens and hearts and minds are changed when adoptee voices are heard and understood in our community and beyond. Thanks to everyone who took the time to listen and learn about the complexities of transracial adoptee experiences. If you are an adoptee, specifically a transracial adoptee, that gained support from hearing other's stories, we are glad you found us! 

A huge, heartfelt thank you to Jana Gross, of Jana Gross Photography! You gave so much of your time and attention to this meaningful project. The board and staff of AKA is so appreciative of your vision, collaboration,  and execution of the "Elevating Transracial Adoptee Voices Project." Thank you also to Trishtia for the extra time you gave during this project's development. 

AKA's services are primarily volunteer-powered. It is only due to the efforts of members like you that enable us to do what we do - Connect, Support, and Educate! Thank you for helping us fulfill our mission! We invite everyone to connect with our upcoming programming so we can continue to learn together.

6/9/2022

Q: Tell us a little about yourself, Bo.

Bo: I am a South Korean adoptee. Born in South Korea, I was adopted at three-months-old. I grew up in Illinois. My poems have appeared in Cha, CutBank, Redivider, The Offing, Tupelo Quarterly, Zone 3, and others. Omma, Sea of Joy and Other Astrological Signs, published by Tinderbox Editions, is my debut collection of poems.

Q: What do you wish people knew about being a transracial adoptee?

Bo: As if I was still an infant waiting to be loved, I have wished to be seen and heard, but I couldn’t make the sounds, not even the cries, of my birth mother or my birth country. On my healing journey, connecting with other transnational adoptees has been extremely meaningful because I have found a community of people who see me. I wish people knew how valuable it is to create spaces for transracial adoptees to share our unique perspectives. I hope for more opportunities, such as fellowships, funding, and grants, for transracial adoptees to discover who we are, to be seen, and to tell our stories.

Q: What kind of loss is associated with being a transracial adoptee?

Bo: I was separated from my roots, which made it hard for me to develop a strong sense of self. I was adopted when I was three-months-old and raised in Illinois. I felt distanced from my birth mother, my birth country, and the Korean language. Growing up, I felt that it was too taboo for me to ask my adoptive family about my birth mother and Korea. In order to survive, I obscured my real self by denying my needs, emotions, and questions.

Q: What perspectives did you gain by being a  transracial adoptee?

Bo: Being separated from my birth mother and my country of origin has helped me to understand others who have endured painful experiences and harbor a deep longing for love and safety. I often reflect on my birth mother’s life and the hardships she faced as a single, unwed woman living in poverty in South Korea. My birth mother died five years after giving birth to me. My heart goes out to babies, children, and women who have similar struggles and obstacles. I wish for us all to be liberated from abuse, violence, and oppression and to live joyfully.

6/8/2022

Q: Tell us a little about yourself, Dianne.

​Dianne: I was born in 1961. I am a First Nations/Dutch transracial adoptee from Canada. I lived for a year in a foster home before being adopted by a white family living in rural Michigan. I gained access to my adoption paperwork and non-identifying information in 2010 after my adoptive parents passed away. In 2013 I located my biological family when an internet search turned up a memoir written by my biological aunt.  I have been in reunion with both sides of my family since then.

Q: What do you wish people knew about being a transracial adoptee?
 
​Dianne: There was no support available for adoptees during the time I was growing up (that I was made aware of).  My adoptive family treated me like I was a “blank slate”.  I did know that I was First Nations (Native American) but my tribal affiliation was considered classified, and I wasn’t allowed to know.  This caused me great sorrow as a child. The only time my race was acknowledged was during Halloween, when I was dressed up as “a little Indian girl (or Pocahontas)” for the holiday.
 
Q: What kind of loss is associated with being a transracial adoptee?
 
​Dianne: For me, it is a loss of community, culture and a sense of knowing who you are, and your place in the world. It wasn’t until after I reunited with my biological family, and met members of my Ojibwe tribal community that I understood that so much of who I was as a person was intertwined with my heritage.  I recognized elements of myself in my family and my community. I’ve begun learning more about my culture, and feel it is very much entwined with my “self”.  I have begun to feel that I BELONG for the first time in my life.  I deeply grieve the loss of not having these connections when I was younger.

Q: What perspectives did you gain by being a transracial adoptee?

Dianne: I have had the opportunity to more clearly recognize the connections with my kin, and my innate cultural knowledge, because I did not experience them until recently.  Having grown up outside of my community, I have experienced most of my life as an “outsider”. I think having experienced both perspectives ultimately makes for a stronger life experience, greater wisdom, and as an artist, a richer palette from which to move forward.  

The great writer bell hooks wrote eloquently:

“…it was love’s absence that let me know how much love mattered…We can never go back. I know that now.  We can go forward. We can find the love our hearts long for, but not until we let go grief about the love we lost long ago, when we were little and had no voice to speak the hearts longing.”
 
These words resonate very deeply with me and give me great hope for the future as I navigate my journey with open eyes and an open heart.

6/7/2022

Q: Tell us a little about yourself, Trishtia.

​Trishtia: Hi, my name is Trishtia Barndt and I am a Korean American born in Seoul, South Korea. I was adopted at the age of 3 months by my parents. I grew up in Pennsylvania with an older sister, two younger brothers, and two younger sisters who were all adoptees as well.

I am passionate about empowering others, I co-host a podcast called “The Soul Life Project, and I am not great at small talk.

Q: What do you wish people knew about being a transracial adoptee?
 
​Trishtia: I want to start off by saying it is never too late to learn, heal, and forgive. In the last two years, I have dug deeper into my experience as a transracial adoptee, thanks to my husband's encouragement and asking the hard questions. Something I am still recognizing and hope more people understand is that adoption is first traumatic before it can be beautiful. When we acknowledge this, it leaves room for empathy, healing, and discovery.

Q: What kind of loss is associated with being a transracial adoptee?

​Trishtia: A poet by the name of Mary Kim Arnold used the word “Internalized Silence” as part of her experience as a transracial adoptee. I have since been thinking about how this describes the loss associated with being a transracial adoptee.

My adoptive family never intentionally tried to take away my Korean culture but it also was not celebrated or taught to me. I grew up never learning the language of my heritage. I really never saw the representation of other Korean or Asian people in my family, community, in my books, in my classroom, and even on TV. I once had a friend say “I forget you are Asian sometimes.”

Until recently when asked about things like do you want to find your birth family, learn the language or learn how to cook Korean dishes, celebrate Korean holidays, or find other Korean/Asian friends my answer was always “not really.” This phrase internalized silence is why I think my answer was always “not really” I have internalized so deeply the silence of my Korean ethnicity and experience as a transracial Korean adoptee I didn’t even know it was something I wanted to connect with and explore. Connecting with other transracial Asian adoptees, watching Korean shows, visiting highly populated Asian places, and when my partner recognizes part of me as Korean, it has been so nurturing to my soul and something I never knew I needed.

Q: What perspectives did you gain by being a  transracial adoptee?

​Trishtia:: Empathy. Growing up as an Asian transracial adoptee in a homogenous white conservative town, with white parents and black brothers and sisters was an experience I have yet to share with someone. Everyone has a story and experiences that led them to believe in what they believe, which then led to action or maybe complacency. If we listen to understand and not respond, if we learn to empathize with a person’s experience even if we disagree or don’t understand, imagine what would change?

6/6/2022

Q: Tell us a little bit about yourself, Triniti.

Triniti: My name is Triniti Rhum and I am twenty years old. I was adopted from Medellín, Colombia, when I was four months old and was raised in Austin, Texas.

Q: What do you wish people knew about being a transracial adoptee?  

Triniti: I wish people knew that being a transracial adoptee can feel as though you are living a double life and longing for a sense of connection that was once lost. I was adopted from Colombia when I was four months old and was brought to the United States, and I have been here for twenty years.

Growing up I often felt as though I did not belong. I didn't see many faces that resembled me. As I entered my adolescent years, I became eager to learn about where I originate, the culture within Colombia, in hopes I can get my questions answered about my birth family. As I have been on the journey to connect more with my birth family I began to fear that my American heritage will overrule my Colombian roots, and that I won’t be able to fully connect with them in the ways I imagined.

This fear of rejection is common within the transracial adoptee community. We often fear that because we were not fully immersed in the culture that we derived from we will never be truly accepted. During the human experience, it is natural for one to be curious about their identity but this curiosity can oftentimes feel tricky for the transracial adoptee. As more and more transracial adoptees grow up and begin to discover themselves, I hope society can understand the reason why many transracial adoptees are hesitant to learn more or even connect with their birth families. Every transracial adoptee is unique, but what we all have in common is the disconnection from a culture that can be millions of miles away. How we choose to go about our adoption is the adoptee's choice and no one else's.

Q: What kind of loss is associated with being a transracial adoptee?

Triniti: Loss is a common theme that plays a role throughout a transracial adoptee's life and can affect different parts of their life in different ways. From my experience as a transracial adoptee, I feel that the biggest losses that can affect us are the loss of connection to birth families, loss of culture, and loss of identity.

Growing up in a predominantly white area I felt as though I never fit in. Many of my fellow classmates had blue eyes, fair skin, and long straight hair. Being a young girl from Colombia I didn't fit the Eurocentric beauty standard and oftentimes felt less than my peers. This caused me to try to assimilate to fit the standards by straightening my hair and following the trends the other girls set at my school.

​Growing up in this kind of limiting environment made me feel that my cultural differences were not unique and beautiful. Instead, I felt different and left out which caused me to lose a sense of identity. As some transracial adoptees have questions regarding their ethnic background, often we  cannot further explore our ethnic DNA due to missing information on our birth certificates. This can translate as another loss for the transracial adoptee.

Q: What perspectives did you gain by being a  transracial adoptee?

Triniti: After telling different people throughout my life that I was adopted I was often told, “Wow, you must be so lucky.” A new perspective on this idea has altered my way of thinking. I gained the perspective that I can be grateful for what I have and still experience feelings of loss and sadness. There is a narrative where the transracial adoptee is told that they should be lucky for what they now have because they are put into a more stable situation. The lucky narrative not only neglects the loss and pain the adoptee has experienced but also doesn't allow space for the adoptee to experience their authentic emotions. This narrative also allows adoptees to believe that their birth family is "less than" because of their inability to care for them.

The lucky narrative is harmful to adoptees by limiting their emotions and telling them how they should feel about a very complex experience. It is vital that as a society we understand the depths of adoption and how transracial adoptees are not always deemed as “lucky” individuals. As non-adoptees come across transracial adoptees it is vital that we hold space for transracial adoptees to tell their stories authentically.

Mirror, mirror, on the wall, my face is reflecting someone I don’t see at all.

As I look deeper, I think I see, why everyone asks me about my nationality. 

Am I white, am I black, the pendulum continues to swing, it seems my face and heart are somewhere in between.

Is my reflection real or just a mistake, maybe I’ll stop asking for everyone’s sake. 

Oh dear adoption, my legal good bye. You’re signed and sealed, with never a reply. 

Do I engage in a search, or continue to hide, I’m forever left wondering how to decide.

Oh mirror, mirror, on the wall, is anyone looking for me at all?

I’m beginning to get frantic, thank God no one can see, just what the adopted life has done to me.

How do I begin to settle my mind down, when this face, my adversary, is always around. ​

​After living in North Texas for 31 years, I had forgotten how beautiful South Jersey was. I remember when I first moved to Texas and told them I grew up on a horse farm, the local Texans and nearby states just could not comprehend that New Jersey had country and farm lands or livestock. Country girl never entered their mind when they learned I was from New Jersey.

They believed the whole northeast was like NYC with sidewalks and high rises. I always felt like they thought I was fabricating my place of origin. In fact, no matter how many times I told my story over the years, most had this suspicious belief gaze. Even though some had never been to the northeast and others only to one area.

Looking back, it astounds me how people can have preconceived ideas about a person or place without knowing anything about the person or the place. It’s all based on hearsay or Hollywood. We know how Hollywood can paint their vision. That’s what happens when we make assumptions. We lump everyone together with our narrow vision. Obviously there are very populated areas in New Jersey, especially the closer to NYC areas. But the whole state is not like that.

With today being the first day of National Adoption Awareness Month, it is a good reminder that not every adoptee has had the same experiences. Not every mother/father who relinquished had the same choices. Not every adoption story follows the same path. Or ends with a happy ending for everyone connected. How could it?

Adoption is a quilt of stories and experiences. And each of those stories change and evolve over time for each person and family. There is no cookie cutter experience.

Please take time this month to not visualize adoption with a singular preconceived lens. Please allow space for those who were directly impacted, whose story has changed in a most profound way to share their story. And know that one person’s experience does not transcend over to another’s.

“There are a thousand stories in the big city.”
“A picture is worth a thousand words.”
“A journey of a thousand miles begins with one step.” ~Lao Tzu

“There is a sacredness in tears. They are not the mark of weakness, but of power. They speak more eloquently than ten thousand tongues. They are the messengers of overwhelming grief, of deep contrition, and of unspeakable love.” ~Washington Irving
​
#NAAM #2021

Karen Whitaker, (Member-at-Large) has served on several volunteer committees over the years, through her employers and her son's elementary school. She truly enjoys volunteering and serving. Karen learned more about the adoption experience and the impact when relinquishing her parental rights in 1999. What was then presented as an open adoption - pictures and updates for the first five years - she lacked awareness about what open adoption, or even adoption in general truly meant and the emotional impact relinquishment had on mothers, adoptees, and on birth families. Thankfully, their open adoption grew beyond pictures into a larger, long-distance family, with visits and family vacations over the years. Karen then began researching adoption and connecting with other birth/first/biological mothers to understand her emotional attachment to this experience. She was met with amazing people from the adoption community who mentored and supported her in her journey to healing. Karen advocates for the rights of mothers and adoptees as well as all members in the adoption constellation, for compassion and transparency. As a hard of hearing person, she also advocates for disability rights. When not working or volunteering, Karen is still quite busy being a mom. ​

By Dianne Sonnenberg, AKA Board Member & International (First Nations) Adoptee

Headline: Remains of 215 children found buried at former B.C. residential school, First Nation says. Tk’emlúps te Secwépemc say ground-penetrating radar was used to locate remains: Posted May 28, 2021; CBC News

As an adoptee and member of a First Nations community, I grieve for these children and their families, and for all of the lives lost and traumatized in the Residential and Boarding Schools in both Canada and the US.

These schools were created to remove Indigenous children from their own culture and assimilate them into the European-Canadian-American way of life. There were hundreds of these schools across the US and Canada. Tens of thousands of native children were taken from their homes, usually against the will of their families. Incredibly, the last one closed in 1996.

The loss of family and culture has caused unspeakable damage for these individuals, as well as their relatives. Intergenerational trauma will be felt for years to come. As adoptees, we have a deep understanding of the challenges they endure, as many of us have experienced much of this pain firsthand. The value of striving to heal these wounds cannot be overstated. It is the first step toward peace, healing, and reconciliation.

When I gave birth to my first daughter, the daughter I placed for adoption, I was newly a fifteen-year-old on the heels of a physically abusive relationship with her biological father. I youthfully claimed I would never have more children. To the outside world, I said I didn’t want to parent. My inner voice said I was broken. Despite my declarations, I’ve spent most of my life obsessed with motherhood: what it means, how it looks, who gets to experience it, who deserves it. Still a child really, I swallowed everything Gladney—and anyone else who cared to offer their opinion—told me about adoption. I can’t suss out who said what. Who it was that suggested it would be easier to be unconscious when my daughter was born? Who it was that said my child would not be my child, she could only ever be someone else’s child? Who said I would not be a mother? And if I weren’t a mother, what did that make me? A vessel, I supposed. “There are no illegitimate children. Only illegitimate parents,” is among Edna Gladney’s best known sayings. I was unlawful, illegal, irregular. Further, after my daughter’s birth, the State of Texas would erase me from the page, blow the dirty pink rubber dust away, and put new names on my daughter’s birth certificate. I would cease to exist. As a birth mother, I absorbed each of these things into my identity: my altogether wrongness.

Not everything goes back to the moment when I relinquished my daughter while I was unconscious in the delivery room, but I remember very little before it. In Elizabeth McCracken’s exquisite memoir, An Exact Replica of a Figment of My Imagination, the author’s friend writes in the wake of a tragedy to say, “‘There is no way for such an event to leave you who you are.’” Relinquishment is one of those events, save for when you are too young to know who you were before. I was still becoming me so placing my
baby wasn’t simply something that happened that changed who I was. In many ways, it became a part of me. It was me. I wasn’t a mother, they said, and though I wouldn’t find the words for this until decades later, I would never not be a mother. An emotional bind of a high order.

​My interest in motherhood came out in other ways. I studied it academically from all angles. My first paper in college was about adoption, my undergraduate capstone paper was on motherhood in literature, the first creative writing project I let anyone else read was a messy, inarticulate vision of what other people thought of birth mothers—and neither the piece nor the opinions I believed others held were good. When I received feedback, I realized that what I believed about myself was tragic.

Bear with me as I digress for a moment. Or maybe, probably, this really is the point. I attempt to consider adoption from myriad angles. I think about this bind—the mother-not mother conundrum, the inexplicably confused identity—often. Most especially when friends and acquaintances who are adoptees talk to me about how things have gone poorly with their birth mothers. Sometimes their birth mothers haven’t responded, sometimes things have fallen apart. The words she didn’t want a relationship break open a part of my heart that I thought I’d long since mended. I grieve deeply for every adoptee who has heard or felt this, wishing desperately I could do something, anything to repair it. I can’t help but wonder how much the system is at fault. I think about the woman on the other end, who may have been swallowed whole by this notion that she had no claim to motherhood, that she was illegitimate, broken, deleted. Does she even believe she has a right to call herself a mother? Even if she had more children down the road, her role as a birth mother was almost surely full of erasure.

I am among the lucky. I have had the resources as an adult to dedicate to over a decade of therapy. I have reunited with my daughter and we have a rich relationship, one that I am grateful for beyond measure. I learned to feel good enough about myself to go on to have another child. My gratitude is endless. But I know also that my ability to do these things was thoroughly in spite of what the system offered, and I’ve had to fight against those beliefs for a very long time.

Growing up as an adoptee, St Patrick's Day always brought up feelings around my own lack of specific ethnicity information. While everyone was running around with garish green hats and eating green pancakes - declaring that they had Irish ancestry from a grandparent or great-grandparent, I was left wondering, even as a small child, was the ethnicity information I had true? Should I embrace it? How do I embrace it? Would embracing it be genuine since I wasn't with my family of origin?

I wondered not just if I were Irish, but I was left wondering just what it meant to be something, anything, because your DNA made you that something. I remember trying to grasp what lineage meant. The entire concept was mystifying and foreign to me.

So, while it isn't Mother's Day or a birthday - the more recognized adoptee triggers - for me St Patrick's Day was deeper and more problematic. An entire day dedicated to and celebration of family heritage...how could it not be problematic? For each adoptee, these cultural events land differently but don't assume they aren't landing, and landing early. Keep the lines of communication open and, after encouraging conversation, take the time to listen to adoptees, no matter their age.